


And then

by Tashilover



Series: On a Clear Day [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Rape Recovery, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin doesn't want to tell because it would only hurt him more.</p><p>Based off a prompt in the CP kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The very first thing to cross his mind was not calling the police. He did not think about checking himself over for injuries or wondering about the state of his clothes. The very first thing to cross Martin's Crieff's mind was  _Carolyn._

All morning the only thing she talked about was their newest client. Mr. Cartel this, and Mr. Cartel that. Mr. Cartel walked on water, and even if he didn't, he was so rich he could pay somebody to build him water-walking shoes. "His money will save our company," Carolyn exclaimed happily. "We will finally be out of debt. So I am only going to say this once: If anyone of you messes this up, I will kill you. Douglas, no funny business. Martin, no pretentiousness. And Arthur-"

"I know," Arthur sighed. "I'll hide in the gally."

That response got a few laughs from everyone. They were all giddy for Mr. Cartel's arrival, Martin especially. If all went well, if Mr. Cartel really was willing to pay that much money for his flight, then it meant a nice steady paycheck for Martin. "It might not be much," Carolyn told him earlier. "But it'll be something."

Martin wanted that paycheck. Wanted it so bad he could taste it.

As Martin pulled up his soiled pants, he debated with himself of what he should do. He could keep his mouth shut, keep quiet of the whole affair. Too much was at stake here and telling someone won't do him any good.

But keeping quiet meant Mr. Cartel might do this someone else. He might have already done this to someone else. Wasn't it Martin's duty to put him behind bars? Shouldn't he be a  _man_ and do what was right?

A broken sob spilled out of his mouth. He covered it quickly, afraid someone might hear him.

That was the kicker: he didn't want someone to find him. He didn't want Arthur or Carolyn or Douglas to see him like this, shivering and shaking like a beaten dog. He didn't want to look in Carolyn's eyes, see the hope of her future  _die_ in them.

Or worse, she wouldn't care. If she told him to keep quiet about this, that it wasn't a big deal.

Martin didn't think he could handle something like that.

He grasped his trousers and tried to pull them up, suddenly realizing Mr. Cartel broke his belt. It was a new belt, too.

Another cry tried to force its way out and he bit his lip to keep it in. He knew he had to dress, get rid of the belt and worry about it later. He knew this and yet he grasped his head, his hands shaking so badly Martin seriously doubted they would have been capable of fastening his belt anyways.

He jumped when there was a knock on the loo door. "Martin?" It was Douglas. "Martin, are you done? We need to get ready to take off."

Martin opened his mouth to tell him to give him five minutes. Five minutes, that was all he needed to clean his face and fix his clothes. He opened his mouth and nothing came out.

He swallowed and tried again. Still nothing.

"Martin?" Two more knocks. Douglas' voice was softer now, concerned. "Are you okay?"

He could not talk, he could not talk, he could not talk. He tried screaming, as that didn't took any movement of the tongue. Air passed through his throat and all that was audible was a small squeal.

Tears began spilling out of his eyes, scared of his unexpected mutism.

"I'm coming in."

The door was locked, Martin had made sure of that as soon as Mr. Cartel left, but Douglas, damn him, found a way in. He always found a way in.

The door handle twisted to the left and swung open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing because people have asked me to. Heed warnings.

The door swung opened. "Martin? Are you okay?"

"Sorry," Martin was able to croak out. He pretended to wipe his mouth. "I think... I think that ham sandwich I had before we left gave me food poisoning."

Douglas looked him over, one eyebrow raised in doubt. Martin knew he looked like he'd been throwing up. "You can't fly," Douglas said. "Not in this condition. But we can't let Mr. Cartel know that either. Too much is on stake for this."

"Yes," said Martin, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. "Yes..."

"The flight is not that long, so I'll fly most of it. You would have to rest in your seat for most of the way. Do you think you can handle that?"

Pilot chairs can only recline so much. The thought of sitting down for six hours while his arse felt like it been split in two made him weak in the knees. God, he wasn't sure he could do it. "Yes."

"Alright," Douglas said, still frowning. "Wash your face. Take a little more time to get yourself together. I can stall for another ten minutes."

"Yes, thank you. Um... Douglas?"

"Yes?"

"Can you... can you not tell Carolyn about this? I'd rather have her not know."

"Wasn't planning to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martin was so grateful for the extra ten minutes he nearly started crying. That was more than plenty of time for Martin to wash his face, straighten his clothes, comb back his hair and get rid of his broken belt.

Once he was done, Martin stared at himself in the mirror, assessing.

He didn't look like a rape victim. There were no bruises on his face, no cuts. His eyes were still red but that should clear up in a few more minutes. Maybe he looked a bit tired, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. Other than looking like an overworked pilot, Martin showed no evidence of the violence that only occurred less than a half hour ago.

He could do this.

Martin placed his hat back on, straightened his uniform and turned to leave the loo. He gasped when he took his first step. His arse felt like it was on  _fire_. The pain burned inside of him, hitting him in his guts. He took another step and that was just as bad. Fuck.  _Fuck_. He couldn't do this, he couldn't do this-

He had to. He couldn't afford not to. Besides... it wasn't so bad, was it? It was not like he was bleeding. Martin been beaten up in school. So what was he complaining about?

He took another step forward. The pain radiated down to his thighs, making him stumble, and all he wanted to do was cry out, but he kept it in check. With each step, it was easy to focus on his destination and not so much on the hot searing knife inside of him.

He got into GERTI and into the cockpit without anyone seeing him. He was glad to be alone, glad Douglas was still stalling.

Martin gingerly sat down on the captain's chair.

If walking was bad, sitting down was  _worse_. Pain exploded all around him, and he jerked almost violently at the horrific sensation. His hands immediately went to the yoke, gripping it tightly, his knuckles turning white. When the pain finally dulled, Martin found himself crying again.

There was no way he could get up and sit down again like this in front of Douglas. It hurt too much. He wouldn't be able to hide it. But  _god_ \- there was no way he could sit down for six hours. He could get a blood clot.

Anxiety began to rise like bile. This was worse. This was much, much worse than anything he's experienced this day-

The door to the cockpit opened. "You're here? Good. Let's get underway. Carolyn was practically foaming at the mouth when I..."

Douglas stopped. "Martin? Martin, are you going to be sick again?"

Martin was  _gone_. He couldn't think of his goal, he couldn't think of Mr. Cartel, nothing was in his mind at the moment except for sheer terror. He was shaking, twitching, knowing he had to get away but wasn't sure from whom or what.

Hands touched his face. "Martin?  _Martin_. I'm going to call for an ambulance."

And that was all Martin heard before he passed out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"A bad ham sandwich?" Carolyn fumed. "He ate a bad ham  _sandwich_?"

"Carolyn, please calm down."

"He should've known better!" Carolyn snapped. Her sudden raised voice caused several people in the hospital waiting room to look over to her. She immediately dropped the level but not the malice. "He knew how important this day was!"

"I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose," Douglas said.

Of course they both knew Martin didn't do it on purpose. Martin took so many precautions he could teach the army a thing or two about being prepared. But Carolyn- god bless Carolyn- was just letting off steam.

Mr. Cartel had been frustrated but understanding. Though he made it very clear he wasn't planning to try MJN again.

Despite his sympathy towards Martin, even Douglas felt irked. Customers like Mr. Cartel didn't come everyday. Only Martin would get them into trouble like this.

Carolyn's phone beeped for the tenth time. "For pity sakes, Arthur!" Carolyn snapped, not bothering to answer it. Arthur didn't do well in hospital settings, and everyone agreed he should stay back at the MJN office to await news. Maybe Mr. Cartel would come back and change his mind. Except Arthur kept texting Carolyn every five minutes, wondering Martin's prognosis.

"Can't blame him," Douglas said. "Exactly what are they doing in there? It shouldn't take that long to set up an IV and take a blood sample."

Something was seriously wrong. This wasn't just food poisoning. Douglas tried to remember the morning before Mr. Cartel came in. Martin didn't look feverous or sickly. Was it the flu?

Twenty antagonizing minutes later, the doctor finally came out. "Mrs. Knapp-Shappey?"

"Ah yes," Carolyn huffed, stomping over. "Yes, that's me. How's Martin?"

Dr. Jones paused. "Is Martin's family here? Can I talk to his wife, perhaps?"

"Martin isn't married," Douglas said. "His brother and sister live at least forty-five minutes away. We're on Martin's emergency listing, you can tell us what's wrong with him."

"I think it would be best if we talked in a private room."

Douglas' worry only got worse. Quietly he and Carolyn followed Dr. Jones to an empty hospital room. Once the doctor closed the door, he turned to them and said, "Martin will be fine, physically. I can release him as soon as he is ready. But..."

He hesitated. Then said,

"Did you know Martin was recently sexually assaulted?"

Douglas was bracing himself for anything. He wasn't bracing for this. "What...?"

"He has finger-shaped bruises on his hips and thighs," Dr. Jones continued. "Bruises around his anus. I found no semen, so I assume his attacker used a condom or an object. I-"

Douglas heard nothing else coming out of the doctor's mouth. A strange buzz entered his ears, whiting out the world around him as the words took hold.

 _Raped_. Martin had been raped. Who would do such a thing-?

"Mr. Cartel," Douglas breathed in revelation. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!"

He turned towards the door when Carolyn - little, tiny, sixty-four year old Carolyn - grabbed him sharply by the arm, halting him in his spot. Douglas was surprised by the strength of her grip, hissing as her fingernails dug into his skin, even through the material of his uniform.

"May we have a moment alone, doctor?" Carolyn asked in a calm tone.

Dr. Jones was frowning at Carolyn's tight grip but said, "Alright. I'm going to Martin's room. It's just down the hall, to your left."

Once he left with the door closed behind him, Douglas wrenched his arm away. A quick inspection revealed tiny crescent shaped marks on his skin. "Carolyn-!"

"You listen to me, and you listen to me now, Douglas," Carolyn snapped at him. The urgency in her voice stunned Douglas. "You will stay away from Mr. Cartel. Do not engage him, do not confront him, don't even  _dare_  drop hints of what you know. Understand?"

Douglas gaped. Was Carolyn really that money hungry? Was she that desperate she would hide the assault of a colleague- of a  _friend_  who was as young as her  _son_  just to make a few extra quid? "I am not going to stay silent about this," Douglas sneered. "I will ruin this man-"

"That man could ruin Martin!  ** _Think_** , Douglas! Mr. Cartel is insanely rich and a case like this will certainly get on the news! That means  _everyone_  will know Martin's been raped. Everyone will know Martin's face, his name, and the press could drag Martin through the mud for  _years_. His mother will know he'd been raped. His siblings, all of his past girlfriends and all his future girlfriends will know. His face will be put on the internet, making fun of him, telling him he deserved it, he asked for it, that he wanted it. That kind of exposure, that pressure, can be worse than the actual rape  _itself_. We cannot force Martin into that type of battle. Not unless he wants to."

Carolyn could've kicked Douglas in the balls and it wouldn't have hurt as much as this did. He stared at her, horrified into silence, his brain whirring at everything that she had just said. She was right. The press would eat Martin alive.

"Fuck," Douglas said, jerking away. In a fit of rage, his foot struck out, kicking over a trash bin. " _Fuck_!"


	3. Chapter 3

Martin was bored.

After the hospital, Carolyn told Martin he could take off as much time as he needed. And if he wanted anything, he had her phone number. Once she dropped him off at his flat, Martin immediately went on the internet and started searching through dozens of blogs and journals, reading on other people's experiences. Call him sick, call him a masochist for doing this so soon after, but he needed answers. More answers than what the hospital provided. So he read, bookmarking certain sites.

Compare to some of these poor folk, Martin got off easy.

As driven as Martin was, not even he could read these blogs for very long. He didn't walk away with a broken nose. Nobody wrote the word _whore_ on him, pictures weren't taken of him, videos weren't filmed. Besides the bruises, Martin was fine.

Fine.

His anus was still too sore to sit on for long. So that meant even van jobs were out of the question. No flying, no driving, and the downstairs television was always occupied by the students, so no BBC. Martin didn't want to go back on the internet because he knew he was only going to start reading those blogs again. The only books he had in his personal library were pilot text books. And the library was closed today due to some electric failure.

So that left Martin sprawled on his bed, on his stomach, doing nothing.

None of the blogs he's read so far mentioned this part. The part where his mind and body quietly shut down, stealing all will to move and speak. It wasn't exhaustion, he didn't think. It was his mind and body, struggling with each other. His brain wanted stimulation, but his body couldn't be arsed to follow through. He couldn't find the energy to turn his head, to force himself to stop looking at the medication the doctors gave him.

Besides drugs to stop any possible sexual transmitted disease Mr. Cartel could've given him, the hospital had also given him a stool softener to ease the pressure on his anus.

A fucking stool softener. As if Martin's humiliation wasn't enough. He also had to take medicine to make sure his _shit_ didn't hurt him any further.

And that right there, was the crux of it all: The rape wasn't over. It wasn't going to _be_ over for a very, very long time. Martin was still waiting on the tests to see if he'd been infected with HIV. He could be barred from giving blood in the future. Because the assault took place at the airport, whilst in his _uniform_ , added on a certain degree of dishonour on top of it all.

He'd been sullied. His uniform had been sullied. Martin remembered staring down at the golden stripes on his arms, blinking through his tears as Mr. Cartel from behind-

Martin jerked his head, ceasing that line of thought from continuing. He'd spent too long repeating the assault in his head. He needed a break.

With no books, no television, no internet, and no thoughts in his head, what was Martin left with? Nothing.

 _God_ , he was bored.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a week, one day after Martin was able to toss away the rest of the stool softener, he decided it was time to get back to work. He needed to go back to work. If he stayed here in the flat any longer he'll go mad.

Tuesday morning Martin woke early. He took a warm shower, soaking more than washing. The bruises on his hips and thighs have dulled into a yellowish colour by now. They'll be gone completely in another day or so. He brushed his teeth, shaved, taking his time with each process.

When he took his uniform out to iron it, he couldn't help but pause.

Look at it. Look at _it_. So what if Carolyn had bought the uniforms cheap? So what if there were loose threads hanging off of it, the elbows were worn, if a button was missing? Martin considered it to be one of the most beautiful things he had ever laid his eyes on. It was a captain's uniform. His uniform.

It wasn't sullied. Regardless of the violence, there were no stains, no tears, no evidence of it. Martin pulled the uniform close to him, pressing it against his chest, still proud he could wear such a beautiful piece of clothing.

He placed the uniform down on the ironing board.

"Those magnificent men and their flying machines... flying machines..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning:** Triggery scene to follow.

 

 

 

 

Martin had only intended to wash his hands. A quick minute scrub to wash off the sweat from his palms. He hoped Mr. Cartel didn't feel too offended for shaking Martin's damp palm. That wasn't going to happen again. Martin was going to be squeaky clean, he was going to slather himself with anti-bacterial gel, and fly that plane. It was going to be perfect.

He heard the door open behind him- he didn't lock the door, he was only washing his hands, why would he need to? - and saw Mr. Cartel step into the loo. "Ah, sir!" Martin had said, a little embarrassed to be seen with his hands lathered with soap. "I'll just be out in a moment-"

He saw Mr. Cartel close the door behind him, then locked it.

"Sir-?"

Mr. Cartel was as tall as Douglas. He wasn't as big, his body lean with muscle from vigorous rock climbing. Martin had seen some of Mr. Cartel's vacation videos on youtube in preparation for his arrival. The man was strong, his arms built like steel wire.

Martin didn't know what was happening until it was too late to do something about it. He remembered it as a blur, a flurry of movements and colours. Within a second Martin found himself face down in the sink, his nose so close to the drain he could see the slight mold growing on the edge. His hands were still wet and soapy, grasping the edge of the sink desperately to keep himself from slipping. A part of him wanted to get up just so he could dry them off.

He felt Mr. Cartel grabbing at hem of his trousers, tugging roughly, his movements getting more frustrated when the belt hindered him. He grasped Martin's buckle, gave it a sharp tug and immediately his trousers loosened, and were shoved down.

Mr. Cartel never said a word, not one word.

Neither did Martin. Was it shock? Was it fear? He didn't remember what was going through his head at that moment. Thoughts were gone from him, snatched away along with his voice.

No-

His pants were pulled away too, tugged down just far enough to expose his backside and he felt cool air hit his skin. Even as Mr. Cartel painfully dug his fingers into Martin's hips, Martin said nothing.

Stop- stop- don't-

His mind was still blank. He was scared, he was conscious enough to feel _that_ , but everything else was silent. He did nothing while his hands shook. Tears fell from his eyes, landing in the sink and slid down the drain.

He felt pressure at his hole-

"NO! NO! NO, DON'T, STOP!"

Mr. Cartel wrapped his arms around him, gripping him tight to keep him thrashing. "Martin! Martin, wake up!"

"No! No, please, let me go!"

"Martin! Martin, it's me! Wake up! Wake up!"

Martin kept screaming. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know whom he was with. He needed to get away, to run away and never return. His feet kicked out, unable to find the ground, unable to get purchase under his heels. When the arms around him didn't slack, he sobbed as the fight drained out of him, waiting for the blow to come down. His mouth was still forming the word _please_.

"Martin," Douglas breathed, loosening one arm to push back Martin's hair from his brow. "Martin... it's okay. You're okay. Shhh... you're okay."

 

 

 

 

 

Martin supposed he should thank his lucky stars Carolyn was the cheapest woman on the planet. Besides Douglas and himself, there was literally no one else staying at their hotel. No one else to hear him screaming at four in the morning.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing to come out of Martin's mouth when Douglas handed over a damp towel to wipe his face with. Martin wanted to use the bathroom himself but didn't want to look at the sink anytime soon.

"You don't have to apologise," Douglas said, sitting down at his own bed. "We all get nightmares."

"I thought... I just thought I was getting better."

It'd been a month since the assault. Besides a few hiccups here and there, Martin really thought he could leave it all behind. Pretend it didn't happen.

"You suffered a trauma," Douglas said. "It'll take time for the body _and_ mind to get to a certain place where it feels comfortable."

Martin wiped his cheeks with the damp towel. When the dream threatened to resurface, he scrunched up his face, determined to think about something else.

_Lift is created by deflecting a flow of air and drag is generated on a body in a wide variety of ways. From Newton's second law of motion, the aerodynamic forces on the body (lift and drag) are directly related to the change in momentum of the fluid with time. The fluid momentum is equal to the mass times the velocity of the fluid-_

"Martin," Douglas said, cutting into Martin's thoughts. "Have you ever considered talking to someone about this? A psychiatrist, perhaps?"

"I don't..." Martin shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this to a stranger."

"... Well, what about me? You can always talk to me."

God, that was even worse. It was bad enough Douglas knew what happened. He didn't need to know all the gory details. Martin shook his head again. "No."

"What about Carolyn?"

"No... I can't..."

"You have to talk to somebody. What about those anonymous call centers where-"

"I said no, Douglas! Don't you fucking understand what _no_ means?"

He didn't realize what he said until Douglas drew back stiffly. Martin has never seen that look on Douglas' face before, stuck between sheer blind anger and _disgust_. Without another word, Douglas got up from his bed and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Martin buried his face in his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

Douglas had not bothered locking the door. "Can I come in?"

Martin pushed opened the bathroom door just enough to peer inside. Douglas sat on the floor, on the bath mat, resting his back against the tub. He was staring at his bare feet. Martin pushed the door wider, but didn't dare go in himself. "I'm sorry."

"No," Douglas said, shaking his head. "Don't apologize. I was pushing you."

"Even so," Martin said. He sat down and leaned his back against the door frame. "I know you were only trying to help. And I am grateful for that."

That was the truth. It was such a relief not to have to explain to either Douglas or Carolyn what had happened. It was a relief he didn't have to tell _Arthur_ what happened. He didn't have to explain himself, he didn't need to give details. God, waking up in the hospital and having to sit there and tell the doctor what happened was horrid enough.

"I'm just so angry, Martin," Douglas said. "I want to help you, but I don't know how."

"You're already helping me. Okay, yes, a part of me is still thinking, 'Douglas will think of something clever.' But I know this isn't an easy situation to be in. Nobody likes to feel helpless."

"I have thought of several things, actually. Most of them involves fire-bombing Mr. Cartel's house."

Martin grinned. People always said violence was not the answer but watching Douglas mime tossing a molotov cocktail was one of the best things Martin has ever seen. It was good to know he had someone behind him, someone willing to fight for him. Martin had no idea how much he needed that. "I'm actually surprised you haven't done something already," he admitted. "You're not the type of person to back down."

"The only reason why I haven't is because of Carolyn."

Martin didn't know what that meant. "What do you mean?"

"Martin, you have no idea how angry I was that day," Douglas said, his voice dripping with venom. "I would've killed him. I swear I would have. But Carolyn told me to keep my distance. Because she had explained to me if I confronted Mr. Cartel about this, in the end it would be you who would get hurt. I'm glad she pulled me back, because-"

"Wait, wait, stop. What do you mean, _I_ would get hurt?"

Douglas blinked at him. "I... Carolyn told me if word got out Mr. Cartel assaulted you, your name and face would be plastered all over the news."

Martin's eyes grew wide. "Oh ...god."

"Martin?"

"Oh ...GOD," Martin said. He clutched at his shirt, his breathing sped up. "I never... I never even _considered_ something like that could happen. I didn't even realize... oh my god, everyone would _know_ , my family and Arthur... oh, oh..."

"Martin, you need to calm down, nobody knows-"

His stomach gave a violent twist. "Sick," he hissed. "I'm going to be sick!"

He scrambled across the floor, reaching for the toilet. He didn't reach it in time, getting the beginning of his sickness on the floor, his knees, and on the toilet seat. He vomited up his dinner of chicken pot pie, and the smell of it spurred him further to vomit more.

Douglas had no idea how _close_ it came. When the doctor asked him if he wanted to talk to the police, he almost said yes. He debated about it with himself for days later, thinking he had an obligation to do something about it, to put Mr. Cartel behind bars. He felt _shame_ for not going through with it, knowing there were people who were younger than him, braver than him, and did what was right. He thought himself as a coward.

Had he gone through with it, his face and name would be on the news for months. The internet would know where he lived, where he went to school and work. Every part of his life would be touched upon, scrutinized, and torn apart for the public to see.

He would be no longer Martin Crieff, the pilot. He would be Martin Crieff, The Rape Victim.

Despite the sickness, Douglas hugged Martin against his chest for the longest time, letting him bawl. Martin was ashamed. He was ashamed, he was ashamed, he was ashamed.


	6. Chapter 6

"Come in."

Carolyn looked haggard. Ever since losing Mr. Cartel's business, she had to work double time to make up the lose. She did everything she could to save money and despite the aggravation, she never complained once. It was taking a toil, Martin could see. The wrinkles around her mouth were deeper, and she was constantly rubbing her forehead as if she had a headache that refused to go away.

She looked up from her red ledger, the one she used specifically for finances. "Yes, what is it?"

"Do you have time to talk?" Martin asked, closing the door behind him.

"As good time as any." She sighed, tossing aside the ledger. "You sound serious. What happened? Did Douglas leave you to do the flight plans again?"

"No. ...Um, well, yes actually, but that's not what I'm here for. I came to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For stopping Douglas when he was... considering about confronting Mr. Cartel."

The more Martin had thought about it, the more it frightened him on how close it came. It also sickened him. This was probably what Mr. Cartel was counting on, the fact that nobody wanted to speak up because the repercussions would be worse than the actual violence. No matter how many times Martin thought about talking, knowing the secret was his to keep was such a _relief_. Was it right to feel like this? Was he doing the right thing?

Carolyn's lips thinned. "Martin, you don't need to thank me for that."

"I know. I still felt the urge to anyways."

He paused. There, that was the perfect way to end the conversation and leave the room, leave everything at that. He didn't need to go any further, he didn't need anything more. But he also knew if he didn't get this out there in the open, it was going to eat him alive.

"You did do it for me... right?" He asked. "Not to save face, not to expose MJN to bad press?"

Ever since the conversation with Douglas, a dirty, _wicked_ little thought kept popping up in Martin's head. It was the same thought that kept telling him he deserved what happened to him. That because he didn't fight back, it wasn't technically rape. While Martin wanted to believe Carolyn stopped Douglas for him, he couldn't help but feel Carolyn had only done it so the company wouldn't be sued.

God, when was all of this going to be _over_? Martin was so sick and tired of all of it.

Carolyn twisted the pen in her hand, contemplating his question. She suddenly stopped, and placed the pen down. She took off her gold rim reading glasses, and gestured for Martin to sit down. When he did, she took a small breath and said,

"When I was thirteen, Ruth brought her boyfriend over when our parents were out of the house. Ruth then left to go to the shops for... something. Cigarettes, I think. When she was gone, her boyfriend took advantage."

Martin's eyes grew wide. "Carolyn..."

She held up a hand. "I only told one person about it. My best friend at the time, Elizabeth. But then Elizabeth told her friends. Who then told their friends. Who then told _their_ friends. By the end of the week, the whole school knew. I was called a whore. A slut. Boys followed me into the toilets, asking for blowjobs. Girls pulled my hair, dumped ink on my uniform, and the teachers did nothing to stop it."

Martin couldn't speak. He was too horrified to speak.

"Eventually word got back to my family," Carolyn said. Her face shifted into disgust. "Ruth accused me of seducing her boyfriend. My parents pretended nothing was wrong. So when it happened again when I was twenty-two, I kept it to myself."

This was the woman who carried a full grown man on her back when he fainted in the fuselage. This was the woman who told Douglas to 'fetch' a life-sized dummy from the water in front of others. This was the woman who had Hercules Shipwright, an experienced commercial airline Captain, wrapped around her little pinkie. Martin didn't want to believe such a thing happened to her. _Twice_ , no less.

Worse, that was not all Martin was feeling. Carolyn knew was it was like. She knew and understood in a way Douglas or Arthur could never understand. She was in the same foxhole he was and god _damn_ him... he was grateful for the company.

"Does Herc know?" Martin asked.

"No," Carolyn said casually. "There's no point in telling him. Arthur doesn't know either." She looked down at her hands. "Have I in any way... discouraged you from telling the police?"

"Do you think I should?"

"That's not my decision to make," she said softly. "I simply wanted to give you the option to walk away, if needed. You don't have to make the decision now, if ever. But if you ever feel the need to talk... I'm right here."

 

 

 

 

Martin stood out in the middle of the field, watching idly as planes landed and took off. In a flat, opened place like this, the wind constantly blew. Even the grass was bent to one side. Martin sat down, propping his elbows on his knees.

Confronting Mr. Cartel did not scare him. Taking him to court did not scare him. Experiencing what Carolyn had gone through, _that_ was terrifying. Martin wasn't sure he could handle that. He could barely handle Douglas' good-natured teasing.

Martin picked at the grass, grabbing it between his fingers and pulled gently. He did not break any of the stems.

Carolyn was not a coward. Martin would never dare think of her as one. She did what she thought was best for her. Was she happier for it? If given a second chance, would she take that boy to court?

Martin didn't want to spend the next thirty years of his life contemplating those questions.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket. He texted Douglas.

_'If I choose to go after Mr. Cartel, will you be willing to help me?'_

Douglas answered two minutes later.

' _Of course. Just tell me when.'_

Martin took a shuddering breath. For now, he placed away his phone and went back to watching the planes.

"Those magnificent men and their flying machines. Flying machines, flying machines..."


End file.
